Chapter 6: The Old Madam Didn’t Lie!
Miss Gu stood by the ticket booth, watching for a while before shifting her steps away. Something was terribly wrong!
A great, glaring anomaly!
How was it that these people could purchase tickets without offering silver or coin? That small iron box they waved—one swipe, a crisp beep, and they were through. What sorcery was this?
What was she supposed to do now?
Third Uncle had told her that, in the outside world, one needed an identification document to buy a train ticket. Yet the identity pass he crafted for her looked nothing like the ones others used.
And money…
Why did no one use actual money here? That little iron box—how did it work?
She clutched the stack of Dragon Nation’s banknotes hidden in her pocket—ten-denomination, five-denomination bills.
Just then, a few ruffians lurking near the station had already set their sights on her.
This girl—her clothing screamed of rustic ignorance, yet her face was a startling contradiction, too beautiful to belong to the dust of the mundane world.
Three of them sauntered up, one stepping directly in front of her.
“Little miss, you seem lost. Can’t find a place to eat? We can take you somewhere cheap and warm.”
The one who spoke stared fixedly at her, his eyes drifting from her face to the porcelain-white skin of her exposed neck.
[Holy hell!] he thought.
[A golden phoenix from a thatched nest?]
This chick dressed like a backwater bumpkin, yet she was strikingly, absurdly beautiful.
[Which godforsaken mountain did she crawl out from?]
Miss Gu regarded the three with a calm gaze, drawing a quiet breath. Inwardly, she recalled Third Uncle’s parting advice.
A moment later, she adorned her lips with the sweetest of smiles and nodded, her voice as soft as glutinous rice, “Alright~”
A few minutes later, in a secluded alleyway two hundred meters from the station.
Three ruffians lay sprawled behind a garbage heap. One’s arm bent at an unnatural angle.
Miss Gu pressed her back to the wall as she stepped out, rubbing her delicate palm against the rough brick, dusting off the grime.
Hmm. Blood. It had stained her sleeve.
Unhappy!
She turned to glance at the three fallen men, dissatisfaction flickering in her gaze.
In her hand, she held one of those small iron boxes—liberated from her unfortunate assailants.
Now, how did this thing work?
Back at the station, Miss Gu wandered around its perimeter. Upon spotting the freight yard at the rear, she glanced left and right, confirming no watchful eyes.
With a nimble crouch, she vaulted over the red brick wall.
If she couldn’t buy a ticket, what of it? Could she not simply stow away?
Clack-clack-clack…
A freight train rumbled along the tracks.
In one of the open cargo cars, coal lay in towering heaps.
A young girl nestled among the black stones, her once-clean tunic now thoroughly tainted with soot.
Her mood soured further.
[These outside-world people, their clothes—do they only own one set each?!]
She huffed.
[Chen family’s scoundrel! This debt—this grievance—will be settled with you!]
Four days later, Chen Yan boarded a flight bound for Harbor City.
He already had the necessary transit permit—something Human Resources had insisted upon three months ago when he first joined the company. “Just in case,” they’d said. “One never knows when a business trip might arise.”
A pointless expense, since he had to pay for it out of pocket.
Not even a measly few dozen bucks reimbursed.
But, well, wasn’t it common knowledge? HR rarely handled human affairs.
The seven-day mourning period had ended. The funeral back home was over. The old one had been laid to rest.
Chen Yan had wrapped up everything—expressed his gratitude to the villagers, settled all affairs.
And now, as he sat on the plane departing his hometown, anxiety gnawed at his gut.
This flight to Harbor City was a gamble, a decision made with gritted teeth. Because…
The ticket alone had devoured nearly all his savings.
After booking the cheapest possible hotel online, his bank balance now sat at a bleak 338 yuan—
Not even enough for a return flight.
As the plane ascended into steady flight, Chen Yan’s heart was steeled in one thought:
[If that bank account is a scam… if that old madam played me for a fool…]
[Then I have no choice but to beg my way home.]
With that grim resolve, he pulled out the Old Madam’s manual and resumed his reading—a daily habit since he had received it.
The tome held three primary sections.
First: Cultivation Methods.
Two techniques were recorded—one titled Vital Energy Circulation Method, the other Fortune Cycles Technique.
The latter, Chen Yan grasped immediately—it was a fate-calculating art. Having grown up under the Old Madam’s tutelage, he had dabbled in the mysteries of Heavenly Gang and Earthly Fiend Arts. With such a foundation, this Fortune Cycles Technique was like second nature.
Whether it worked, though? That was another matter.
The Vital Energy Circulation Method, on the other hand, was foundational—akin to internal cultivation in martial arts novels, or spiritual energy refinement in the Immortal Dao. The Old Madam referred to it as Vital Energy.
It was written:
“All living beings are born carrying a trace of Heaven and Earth’s Vital Energy, but as they age, it disperses—fading away with each passing year. The older one grows, the less remains.”
“Thus, mortals are robust in youth but frail in old age.”
“Some are born weak, their Vital Energy scarce from birth, already drained in the womb.”
“Ordinary people can never recover what is lost. But with proper cultivation, this Vital Energy may be gathered, slowly accumulated.”
“With time, it strengthens the body. Mastery allows the wielder to perform wondrous arts beyond common comprehension.”
Chen Yan had started training the Vital Energy Circulation Method on the second day after acquiring the manual.
That very night, he sensed it—his three Dantian Points awakening, a faint pull of energy from the world around him. A sensation, like being submerged in warm water, gently cleansing every fiber of his being.
He had stepped onto the path of cultivation.
But that midnight, a sudden, gut-wrenching pain had wrenched him from sleep.
Bolting upright, he had sprinted for the toilet.
That night, he made no less than five or six trips.
By dawn, drained of all strength, he had given up entirely—dragging a pillow to the restroom, slumping against the wall in sheer exhaustion.
A wild thought flickered in his dazed mind:
[This… this feels oddly familiar.]
[Is this the legendary Marrow Cleansing?]
[A rebirth moment straight out of ancient texts?!]
A faint, mad hope surged within him—
[Could this be… the revival of the old ways?!]
The next day, Chen Yan finally realized the truth—it was simply a case of stomach inflammation.
For two days before his grandmother’s funeral, he had eaten nothing, hunger gnawing at his insides like a wolf in a barren winter. But once the sorrow had faded, he feasted wildly, only for his body to betray him in the end.
Perhaps it was merely a trick of the mind, but after a night of purging, a deep sleep, and the first light of dawn upon his face, his body felt inexplicably lighter, as if the weight of past burdens had been washed away.
Moreover, when he resumed practicing the Vital Energy Circulation Method, the flow of energy within him no longer sputtered like a dying candle but coursed steadily, though faint, yet unbroken.
At this moment, Chen Yan was certain—he had truly set foot on the path of cultivation.
The second major category recorded in the old tome detailed an array of mystical arts.
One could gaze through the heavens with the Heavenly Eye, deciphering the unseen forces of fate. Another art allowed objects to be drawn forth with but a flick of the hand. Some techniques twisted the very fabric of reality, while others were devised for slaying malevolent entities and purging the world of darkness.
To put it simply—Chen Yan found it all utterly fantastical.
The third category focused on artifact appraisal, though it was more like a collection of scattered notes on crafting simple talismans and implements.
For now, however, the latter two were beyond his reach. His control over Vital Energy was only at its infancy, far from being able to wield spells. As for forging artifacts? That was still a distant dream.
During the days spent handling the funeral affairs in his hometown, Chen Yan remained steadfast in his practice of the Vital Energy Circulation Method—though the tome never explicitly stated meditation was required. Still, having seen countless martial arts films and novels, he figured that all great cultivators assumed such a posture while training.
He also performed the Fortune Calculation Technique seven or eight times daily.
According to the ancient algorithm, his recent fortunes had been decent—not quite a grand stroke of luck, but enough to anticipate some minor windfalls.
For two or three days, he held onto this hope.
Then, on the eve of his departure from the village, as he made his way back from a banquet at the village chief’s house—
He found five yuan on the road.
Afterward, he recalculated his fate… and found his fortune had flattened into a dull, unyielding line.
Well… did that mean it actually worked?
Hours later, a weary Chen Yan stepped out of Harbor City’s airport, dragging along a counterfeit Rimowa suitcase he had bought online six months ago. He gazed upon the unfamiliar streets, still feeling as though he were trapped in a dream.
Harbor City was not large, but its costs were steep. Even a single bottle of water from the supermarket cost several yuan. Taxis? Unreasonably expensive.
Checking the time—just shy of two in the afternoon.
Forget the hotel. Straight to the bank!
In a bustling district of Central Harbor City, Chen Yan stood before a grand and imposing building.
He scrutinized the plaque, ensuring he was at the right place—a prestigious British-founded private bank with an extensive history.
Taking a deep breath, he strode into the lobby.
Unlike the lively, crowded banks of the mainland—often filled with retirees enjoying free air conditioning—this private bank’s lobby was compact and eerily quiet. The massive, enclosed teller counters found in public banks were nowhere to be seen.
Behind the reception desk sat a professionally dressed young woman, clearly a Harbor City local.
The moment Chen Yan entered, moving with an air of uncertainty, the receptionist stood and offered a polite, yet practiced, smile, greeting him in English.
Unfortunately, Chen Yan’s grasp of English had always hovered dangerously close to the passing line.
Frowning, he asked, “Can you speak Dragon Nation Standard? I have business to conduct.”
The receptionist’s professional smile did not waver, but her eyes flickered with a trace of… something.
Chen Yan narrowed his eyes and, without a word, pulled a six-faceted key from his pocket.
The receptionist’s demeanor changed instantly. Her expression grew solemn, and she quickly picked up the phone, dialing several numbers and speaking in hushed tones.
Two minutes later—
“Good afternoon, sir. I am Luca Sommer, the supervisor overseeing our Asia-Pacific Region clients. It is an honor to assist you.”
Standing before him was an impeccably dressed, older Western gentleman, exuding an air of refined authority. Surprisingly, his Dragon Nation Standard was quite fluent.
Chen Yan glanced back at the receptionist.
In this day and age, countless Westerners had made an effort to master Dragon Nation Standard in order to conduct business with Dragon Nation’s people. Yet here in Harbor City, some locals still clung to their outdated airs, as if speaking their own nation’s tongue was beneath them.
He had only two words for them—
Pathetic. Cheap.
After verifying his account and key, Luca Sommer personally escorted Chen Yan into a VIP elevator.
“Your account is classified under our VIP tier, granting you access to our underground vault. As per protocol, you may freely store or retrieve any items within.”
Chen Yan had already researched this beforehand. This ancient private bank operated under an exclusive security policy—
They recognized keys, not people.
Clients were not even required to provide personal details. Convenient, indeed, for those handling certain… delicate matters.
Luca Sommer led him to the underground vault, where two armed security personnel stood watch.
He gestured toward a reinforced door. “Your private vault lies beyond this threshold.”
Not merely a safe—
A vault?
Chen Yan was taken aback.
“Our access ends here. The outer chamber door unlocks with your account credentials, but only your six-faceted key can open the vault itself. Enjoy your visit.”
With that, Luca Sommer and the guards stepped aside, leaving Chen Yan alone.
He took a deep breath and entered the access code.
The door clicked open, revealing a short corridor, five meters in length, leading to a massive metal door at the far end.
His pulse quickened as he approached, his fingertips trembling slightly as they found the keyhole.
Sliding the key in, he turned it gently.
A cascade of mechanical clicks echoed through the chamber.
Then, the round metal door began to swing open—
Light glimmered within, reflecting off stacks of golden treasures.
Chen Yan took one step forward, barely able to contain his emotions as his eyes swept over the gleaming riches before him.
A surge of joy and disbelief overtook him.
“Grandmother… you didn’t deceive me after all!”
At that moment, bliss flooded his veins, nearly sending him into euphoric collapse!
This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation